Me and TS Eliot ( a.k.a. UCLA-jock-romance )

by Andrew J

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction. If you are not 18 or older, please leave immediately. Do not continue reading. Also, if gay male sex or isn't your thing, you might not want to stop here. Otherwise, enjoy!

If you liked this story, please let me know! All comments and feedback are welcome. Andrew J (Email:; Yahoo IM: andrewbjo)

What I couldn’t figure is how he could sit there, 2 tables away, and just ignore me. I mean, I’m hot. Probably the hottest senior at UCLA. My good looks and cute smile, not to mention my status as a former varsity football player, have gotten me any guy, or for that matter, girl, I’ve ever wanted. On campus or otherwise.

I’d seen him around a few times, mostly at school, and on one occasion at a gay bar in West Hollywood. He was extremely good looking, in a brooding intellectual kind of way. Bluish-grey eyes, soft, classic facial features, and pale marble-like skin. Thick jets of unruly dark brown hair. And there he was, working away on his laptop, with a pile of books on his table, completely oblivious to the hunk watching him (that would be me).

For the record he wasn’t really my type. I usually went for the model or muscleboy look, or, in the case of women, the petite, vivacious type. And there were plenty of those in this town. But, for now I had a few hours to kill, and he was right in my line of vision. So, I decided I’d do him a favor and flirt with him a bit.

“Hey what’s up.” I said cheerfully, in his direction.

He looked up at me. His expression was distant and contemplative, and he had the appearance of being slightly stoned. “Not much,” he said. Then he went back to his laptop, and continued ignoring me.

So I just sat there thumbing through the latest GSA rag. Not one to give up, after a few minutes I went over to his table.

“I’ve seen you around on campus… mind if I join you?” I said, sitting down. I motioned the waiter to bring us 2 more beers.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” he said, not looking up at me.

“I’m Jeffrey -” I offered.

“Yeah, I know who you are… varsity lineback 2 seasons ago, right?” he said. His tone wasn’t quite friendly, but it wasn’t unfriendly either. I figured he was probably just one of those shy, aloof types.

“That’s me.” I said proudly. That’s more like it, I thought to myself. “So, whatcha working on?” I asked, picking up one of the books on the table. Most of his books were on some guy named TS Eliot.

“The proposal for my dissertation” he said, not glancing up.

Wow. He was a grad student. I noticed how his dark unruly hair was lightly spiked up, mostly to the left. On the sides, it grazed his ears.

“Oh yeah? On TS Eliot, huh? What’s your major?” I asked.

This made him look up at me. His eyes, still distant, now had a hint of amusement and incredulity in them. Flatly, he said, “English Literature.”

I’ve seen that look before, and heard that tone. It meant “hey jock, shouldn’t you be off bouncing a ball somewhere?” People always assumed us sports types were idiots. What, just because I didn’t know who TS Eliot was?

“Anyways, I was just leaving. I have to be somewhere in a bit” He said, closing his laptop and getting up. As he packed, I noticed how his yellow t-shirt was stretched taut against his broad shoulders, and tapered down to his narrow waist. It periodically rode above the low waistline of his jeans, exposing the smooth, pale skin around his waist. I noticed he had a flat stomach that was hairless but for a thin treasure trail.

“Sure, take it easy, dude” I sat there watching him leave, just as our waiter arrived with the 2 beers I’d ordered. Oh well. More for me, I thought, and started chugging.


The next day…

“So, like, why on earth would you want a book on TS Eliot?” Matt asked me as we trekked across campus to the library. Matt was a buddy and a fellow athlete. The varsity athletics crowd wasn’t the most gay-friendly group, so it was nice for Matt, who was gay, and me, who was mostly gay but frequently not, to have each other as friends.

“I just do, man. TS Eliot is famous, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, like one of the most famous English poets ever,” Matt said. God, no wonder he looked at me like I was crazy when I asked him what program he was in.

“Well, I just want to educate myself, that’s all,” I said.

“Dude, don’t make me laugh,” Matt said. “Is this to help you get laid? Wait… is this so you can impress that new guy on the wrestling team… um what’s his name… Rick? He’s an English major, right?”

“First, Rick is straight, and second, he’s gross,” I said, getting annoyed at Matt’s badgering.

“So who is it, then? Dude, you’ve gotta tell me… I’ve never seen you go to a library before. You must have it hard.”

“No more questions. OK?”

“Fine, fine” Matt said, laughing.

We found a couple of books on Eliot’s poetry. I took them back to my apartment with me, and read them all afternoon and evening. It was mind-numbingly boring and I couldn’t understand most of it, and it put me to sleep more than a couple of times. In fact I probably slept more than I read. The guy wrote lines in Latin and German and Sanskrit and other vague languages. He sounded like a big show-off to me. No wonder whatshisname was researching TS Eliot. Whatshisname was probably a snob too. Damn. I just realized I didn’t even know his name.

After a couple of hours, I’d had enough. I talked Matt into going to WeHo with me, which wasn’t hard. Matt lived for the gay club scene. As we danced and got drunk under the strobe lights and gazes from hot guys, my thoughts kept returning back to whatshisname back on campus.

A week later…

After going to the GSA pub every night, and him not being there, I was getting a bit discouraged, and didn’t expect I’d ever run into him again. Not that I really wanted to see him, but I was stubborn and not a quitter by nature, and running into him had become somewhat of a mission now.

But that night he was there, working away on his laptop. I was surprised at how happy I was to see him.

I sat down at a table near him, and set down my books, and discreetly looked over at him. He had the same faraway, brooding expression, and his bluish-grey eyes were staring intently at his computer screen. It’s amazing how he looked stoned even when he was concentrating. He was wearing a white UCLA t-shirt, and under the table, I noticed he was wearing shorts. Nice legs, I thought to myself. He had really well developed calves and from what I could tell, quads. I wonder if he was a runner or -

“Jeffrey!” He’d been looking straight at me for a while now. “What’s up Jeffrey?”

Damn. I’d been caught staring at him. “Oh, hi…. uh…uh...”

“Hugh,” he said, and quickly returned to his work.

Damn again. I wish I’d already known his name. Now it sounded like I’d forgotten it. Great impression I must be making.

“Hugh,” I repeated. So, his name was Hugh. What a snobbish sounding name, I thought to myself. A perfect fit for his reserved, aloof personality. His probably had roman numerals at the end of his name. In fact I bet he was from New England and had a trust fund and went to some Ivy League school before UCLA.

For the next half hour, I watched him out of the corner of my eye, and noticed that while he never looked at me again, his expression was softer, and his body language told me he was slightly more interested in me than he was last week.

“Deadline?” I asked, finally, bored with my books.

“Always,” he said. He half-smiled, but didn’t look up at me. I wanted to go over and sit with him, but all of a sudden I felt butterflies in my stomach. What the hell was that about, I thought. I’m 22, cuter and hotter than any other 22 year old I know, and I’m getting nervous to talk to this geek?!?

“So… mind if I, uh… join you?” I said tentatively.

His face abruptly clouded over. After a moment’s hesitation, he said “Sure, why not.”

“Still working on TS Eliot?” I asked, happily setting my stuff down at his table.

“For the next 3 years,” he said, half at me and half at his computer.

“You must be really smart. TS Eliot is pretty profound stuff,” I said.

At that he almost, almost, rolled his eyes. I knew precisely what he was thinking… “Please don’t make me have a conversation about TS Eliot with an idiot sports jock.”

I continued, undeterred, “I mean, his disenchantment with society after the war in Europe resonated with his entire generation… not easy to accomplish if you ask me.”

At that he blinked several times, still staring at his computer screen, and his expression changed to one of curiosity and surprise. He slowly tilted his head to the right and looked up at me. I noticed how cute his leftward-leaning spikes of hair were, now that they were pointing straight upwards.

“What are the roots that clutch?” I quoted easily, swirling the beer in my glass, trying to look brooding and pensive.

I detected the smallest flicker in his blue-grey eyes.

“What branches grow, out of this stony rubbish?” I rattled off the next line. He was now looking straight at me… completely taken aback, and, dare I say it, impressed.

“Son of man, you can never say or guess,” Man, I was on a roll, and best of all I had him eating out of my palm.

“For you know only a heap – a heap -” Shit. I couldn’t remember the rest of it. “A heap-” I squeezed my eyes shut, “For you know only a heap…”

“- of broken images.” Hugh completed the line.

And for the first time, he smiled at me. Broadly. A beautiful smile. His eyes smiled too. His whole face smiled. I had impressed him, and won a smile for my efforts.

And for the first time I noticed how perfect his teeth were. And how sensuous his lips looked against his pale skin and the beautiful whiteness of his teeth. And how, when he smiled, his bluish-grey eyes twinkled, and his pensive, troubled expression was replaced by a soft, warm one.

The next day…

He was there again, and so was I. He was rushing off to class, so I didn’t get to talk to him for too long. I found out he was indeed from the East Coast, and had indeed graduated from an Ivy League school. He seemed genuinely interested when I told him I grew up in a small town in the central valley of California. He made some comment about Steinbeck or whatever that I need to look up before I see him again.

I casually mentioned to him that he looked pretty fit and had a great physique, and asked him what he did for exercise. He told me that among other things, he went swimming every Tuesday night after his late class.

Swimming on Tuesdays, huh… I thought to myself.

The next day…

“Dude,” Matt said, laughing hysterically, “I bet you don’t even know HOW to swim!”

“What gives you that idea, jackass?” I asked, thoroughly irritated at myself for asking Matt for help to buy swimming trunks.

“OK, so c’mon, man. Tell me who it is… atleast tell me if it’s a guy or girl this time.”

“Fuck you.” I said, hanging up.

The following Tuesday…

Figuring Hugh would be at the pool at around 9:30 PM, I got there at about 9:15, and thought I’d do a few laps while I was waiting for him. I hadn’t been swimming in years, and it felt great to be in the water.

After my first lap, I spotted him making his way from the changerooms towards the pool. He looked absolutely stunning in his dark grey speedos, which showed off his lean swimmers build. His slender body, mostly smooth, was in perfect shape, and his grey trunks and his dark hair together highlighted his skin, giving his whole body a certain marble-like, statuesque quality. His eyes, distant as always, registered surprise when they saw me.

“Hey what’s up, Hugh!” I said jovially as he approached the ledge near me.

“I didn’t know you swam,” he said, smiling, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Oh yeah, all the time, man!” I said, adjusting the waist string of my baggy red swim trunks, hoping my noticeable excitement at seeing him in his speedos wouldn’t show.

He surreptitiously checked me out as we chatted, and I was glad I’d just done a few laps. My muscles were slightly more pumped, and my whole body glowed from the exercise.
I looked hot, and felt hot.

As he got in the water and was about to start his laps, I said, “Hey by the way…” He looked back at me. “Fear death by water.”

He beamed a smile at me, immediately recognizing the quote.

Man I was getting good at this. He’d be mine in no time, I thought. All I had to do was not run out of TS Eliot poems.

I watched him swim. He looked like a pro as he did lap after lap, not pausing once. I did one lap for every sixteen he did, or atleast it seemed that way. And probably ended up drinking a gallon of swimming pool water along the way. I noticed how gracious and beautiful he was as he moved effortlessly through the water.

I ran into Hugh again in the locker-room showers. (OK, ok… I’ll admit it. This was main reasons I went swimming at all that night). Actually, he was just finishing his shower and toweling off as I entered the shower area straight from the pool. I took my shorts off, and stood under the hot jet of water. Man it felt good. My muscles ached and I was beat.

I slowly turned around to watch Hugh towel off. His backside was facing me, and he wasn’t aware that I was watching, as he gradually toweled off his legs and back. His lats and shoulders were pumped up and stood out, giving him that classic swimmers V shaped torso. His legs and butt were perfectly shaped. I desperately wanted to go and touch him. In fact I desperately wanted to do more than just touch him. I wish he’d turn around so I could see what the rest of him looked like.

He wrapped his towel around him, and, turning to get his swim trunks and shampoo, noticed me watching him. I smiled at him, and, feeling embarrassed somehow, turned around. This was a good move because as I felt his gaze on my body, my dick started stiffening. Panicking, I turned the water to COLD and continued my shower.

The next day…

Damn my body was sore. I didn’t realize I was so out of shape. I needed to go swimming more, once my muscles stopped aching. I wanted a swimmers build. I wonder what kind of build Hugh was into.

The next day…

I swung by the GSA pub on the way to an evening class to see if Hugh was there. He was indeed. I said hello, and stopped to chat for a while. I noticed he was wearing a UCLA varsity football t-shirt. Go Bruins! I smiled all the way to class.


2 days later…

TS Eliot was beginning to drive me crazy. How could anyone in their right mind want to study him for 3 years, I wondered.

Several days later…

What if Hugh isn’t gay at all? Just because I saw him at a gay bar once doesn’t make him gay. What if he’s into women? What if I’ve been barking up the wrong tree all these weeks?

I panicked, called Matt, and spilled the beans. Told him all about Hugh. After my so-called best buddy predictably said “I knew it! I just KNEW it!!” about 20 times, he reassured me everything would be OK, and complimented me on my taste in geeks. He then took me out to drink in WeHo. He always knew how to make me feel better.

A week later…

After a long, rough week, I headed over to the GSA pub. I hadn’t seen Hugh there in a whole week, and was hoping I’d run into him tonight. It would be nice to see him. I was out of TS Eliot lines that night, but hoped maybe he’d give me a smile anyways.

I was surprised to see him sitting at his table with another guy. He was tall, refined and very handsome, and looked very smart. The two of them obviously had a lot in common. Hugh wasn’t the least bit reserved as he chatted away, animatedly, laughing and joking. This was in sharp contrast with the way he was with me… I could barely get a smile out of him.

I stood at the entrance watching them for a few seconds, and then, furious at myself for being so stupid, turned to leave.

How could I have been such an idiot. How could I have even imagined that Hugh would want anything to do with me. He was a really smart graduate student, and it was all I could do to stay afloat in my undergraduate program. I didn’t stand a chance in hell with him. I didn’t have an Ivy League bone in my body. My folks didn’t even go to college.

Hugh must have noticed me leave abruptly, because I heard him calling out after me, “Hey Jeffrey.” I didn’t stop or slow down.

When he finally caught up to me, he blocked my way by standing in front of me.

“Hi Jeffrey…”

“So what’s going on, man? You barely even look up when you talk to me, and you never smile … Not even after weeks and weeks of me trying… I’m trying as hard as I can with you, man…am I not smart enough for you? And who the fuck is that?” I was frowning deeply. Someone once told me to never frown because it made me look like an angry angel.

“He’s -”

“Dude, this is messed up, man. I’ve spent this whole past month reading shit like TS Eliot and swimming and stuff, and I don’t even know if you’re into me. Fuck, I don’t even know if you’re into guys… I…”

And at that, Hugh leaned in and kissed me. Deeply, fully on the lips. If it was meant to shut me up, it worked. Like a pacifier on a baby. I stared silently into his beautiful bluish-grey eyes, and noticed for the first time that he was slightly taller than me.

“I am completely into you,” Hugh said. He kissed me again. I responded to his kiss this time, and put my arms around him.

“And what about that guy you were with?”

“That’s my brother Edward, visiting from Boston.” Hugh was barely able to contain his amusement.

“Your brother,” I repeated, completely embarrassed at my outburst. We both laughed. I blushed deeply.

We held each other like that, right there near the entrance of the GSA pub. Finally, I said “In that case…” and, recalling the line I’d been saving up for precisely this occasion, quoted, “Let us go then, you and I… to where the evening is spread out against the sky.”

“OK. You lead the way, J Alfred Prufrock,” Hugh said, his eyes twinkling.

We stumbled into my apartment in full embrace, kissing and laughing all the way. Our clothes got flung in all directions, making a trail to the bedroom from the entrance. We were both hungry for each other, and our lovemaking was furious and passionate. I’d held back for too long now and wanted him so bad. I let him have everything I had. And he rose to meet me… I was surprised at, but wholeheartedly welcomed, his sexual voraciousness. His body was on fire, and he couldn’t get enough of me. We were a perfect match. We went on and on until the early morning, when we both collapsed in each other’s arms out of sheer exhaustion.

When I awoke, I held him as he slept peacefully beside me. His face was angelic, and as was his body, nestled up against mine. I could easily fall in love with this man, I thought to myself.

And it so happens I did. And what’s even more amazing, he fell in love with me.

If you enjoyed this story, please let me know! Also, email me if you’d like to be notified when I update/add a story on nifty. It’s always a pleasure to hear from readers. Thanks!

-- Andrew J (Email:; Yahoo IM: andrewbjo)

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Copyright 2006 Andrew J ( All Rights Reserved.